


A Lost bet

by animehead



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Crossdressing Kink, Locker Room, M/M, PWP, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-27
Updated: 2014-01-27
Packaged: 2018-01-10 06:33:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1156291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/animehead/pseuds/animehead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Takao learns the consequences of gambling.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Lost bet

Takao sees the garment being offered to him, feels the softness of the fabric when it’s shoved hard against his bare chest. He knows what it is, and the purpose it serves, but he has yet to fully grasp why Otsubo is staring at him with such an expectant look on his face. 

Or why the rest of his teammates are laughing. 

“Um…”

“Don’t even try it,” Otsubo says. “It was your idea. We all made the bet, and you lost. Now put it on.”

“What…” Takao scrunches up his face. He’s confused to say the least, so he tries to carefully go over Otsubo’s words, forces himself to pull out valuable information that may give him some insight on what the hell is going on here. Otsubo mentioned something about a bet, an idea, and…

Crap. 

“Ah, w-wait.” Takao gently pushes his captain’s hand away, successfully removing the offending orange fabric out of his personal space. “That was so long ago. Anyway, I only made the bet because I thought Shin-chan would lose.”

“Well, he didn’t lose, did he?” Miyaji says, his annoyed voice echoing throughout the locker. He snatches the garment away from Otsubo and presses it against Takao’s chest. “You did. Now stop stalling and get it on. We’re not going to waste practice time because you’re trying to weasel your way out of this.”

“But…” Miyaji’s hand feels like an anvil against his chest, heavy and hard. The longer Takao stalls, the heavier Miyaji’s hand becomes. Takao can imagine it crushing his sternum, collapsing his lung, and cutting off much needed oxygen. He finally takes the garment, but he shakes his head, needing his teammates to understand. “It was just a—” 

Takao stops talking when he notices the disappointed expression on his captain’s face.

“You’re off the team until you can accept the consequences of your actions,” Otsubo says, and with that, his teammates walk away, leaving Takao alone in the locker room. 

“Shit.” Takao stares down at the ridiculous piece of clothing in his hand. It’s pleated for crying out loud— orange, black, and white plaid matching perfectly with their team colors. There’s a tiny bow at the waist that aggravates him almost more than the garment itself. “This is all your fault, Shin-chan,” he mutters at his partner, who is of course, nowhere to be found. 

***

Their laughter is loud and annoying when he steps onto the court, but Takao does his best to ignore it. He gets several catcalls, plenty of disapproving mutters, and more comments of, ‘let that be a lesson to you’ than he cares to hear. 

And then there’s Midorima. 

His partner says nothing to him at all. No snicker, no annoying lecture about why Takao shouldn’t make childish bets, no  _anything_. He just stares at Takao, the weight of his eyes making Takao feel uncertain, and even more embarrassed about the situation. 

But then Otsubo gets practice underway and things proceed normally. 

After awhile, Takao forgets he’s wearing a skirt. In all honesty, it isn’t so bad. They’re similar to shorts and the breeze he gets between his legs from running feels kind of nice. In the back of his mind, he wonders what it feels like to wear a skirt without wearing any underwear, but he decides it’s best not to think about those things, at least not when other people are around. 

He still feels Midorima’s eyes on him. 

It really shouldn’t be a surprise. Midorima always watches for him on the court. It’s Takao’s job to get the ball to him, after all. But there’s something odd in the way that the taller boy stares at him. His facial expression is exactly the same, all business and no pleasure, but there’s something different about his eyes. They’re just as green as they always are, eyelashes long and beautiful as the most expensive of ball jointed dolls. But there is definitely  _something_  to that gaze of his. 

It seems kind of familiar…

***

Practice is over the same time it always is, but for one reason or another, it seems like it went on forever. Takao hangs back, shooting baskets, feeling cool air against his legs each time he takes a shot while waiting for the locker room to clear out a bit. He’s the only one still on the gym floor, which is nice because the moment they stopped practicing, his teammates went back to taunting him about the skirt. He doesn’t feel as bad this time around. Skirts are nice. Also his legs look amazing, so there’s that. 

When Takao finally steps back into the locker room, the only person still there is Midorima. He’s standing shirtless in front of his locker with today’s lucky item resting at his feet. Takao isn’t sure what the hell today’s lucky item is, but it’s rectangular and looks pretty heavy. 

He chuckles as he imagines Midorima carrying something heavy around for a change. 

“Does Shin-chan have nothing to say?” Takao asks, making his way over to his own locker, which is a few lockers down from Midorima’s. 

“About what exactly?” Midorima replies. 

“About my new wardrobe.” Takao gives a small shake of his hips, causing the skirt to twirl slightly, exposing even more of his thighs. 

“You look ridiculous,” Midorima says. “But I suppose it is to be expected. Scorpios are ranked twelfth today.” He leans over and sticks his hand into his gym bag, rummaging around for something. 

“Ah, is that right?” Takao replies. “And I suppose Cancers are ranked in first place today, hm?” Takao knows the answer to that question, of course. He watches Oha Asa every day, as well. 

Although, the only horoscope he pays attention to is Cancer. 

Not waiting for Midorima to reply, Takao grabs his towel and begins to walk past him toward the shower only to be jerked back by a strong hand gripping at his skirt. 

“You would be correct,” Midorima answers, and that look is back in his eyes again. The one Takao noticed throughout practice. 

And Takao finally realizes what that gaze is, and more importantly, what it means. 

***

“Shin-chan,” Takao says, the metal locker feels cool against his warm and slightly sweaty palms. “Shin-chan, wait. We can’t do this here.” Takao wants to kick himself for not realizing what that look meant during practice, but the truth is, there’s never been an occurrence where he’s managed to turn Midorima on when there were other people around, especially not during practice. 

The worst—or maybe the best—part is that he didn’t even have to do anything. 

“Why not?” Midorima asks. He doesn’t bother to stop with his task of pulling down Takao’s boxer briefs, one hand placed firmly on Takao’s back while the other strips him with ease. “I’ll be quick.”

“You’re  _never_  quick,” Takao complains, hand reaching back in an attempt to swat Midorima’s hand away. “Someone might come in. It’s bad enough that I’m in a skirt and—” Wait a minute. Takao blinks at the locker in front of him before smirking. “Is this your fetish?”

“Absolutely not,” Midorima says. 

He’s lying. 

“Oh, I get it now.” Takao snickers. “Well, I couldn’t live with myself if I denied Shin-chan of his kinky fetish. But you’ll have to be quick.”

“It’s not a fetish,” Midorima replies, cheeks red, hand reaching down to grip at the skirt, bunching the fabric in his fist, forcing Takao’s hips toward his own. His cock glides against Takao’s ass, and he bites back a groan. 

“Whatever you say, Shin-chan,” Takao says. “Maybe I’ll wear makeup next time, too. Is that part of your fetish as— Ahh!”

“Shut up, Takao.”

Takao is tempted to speak again, but he’s not sure if Midorima will smack his ass again. A part of him wants to ask if spanking is yet another fetish of Midorima’s while another part of him is so turned on he can barely stand it. 

Maybe spanking is  _his_  fetish. 

“Geez, what are you doing back there? Hurry up, Shin-chan. You’re going to blame me if this thing breaks under my weight.”

“Quiet, fool. It’s sturdy enough to hold you. I wouldn’t dream of choosing a lucky item that isn’t of the highest quality.”

Takao opens his mouth to reply, but he ends up being pressed harder against the lockers instead. He gasps, lips parted breath coming out in soft puffs when he feels slick fingers slide inside of him. Turns out the item Midorima had been rummaging around for in his bag for was lube. 

Closet pervert. 

“Not the fingers,” Takao whines, knees buckling as he bears more of his weight against the locker. 

“Surely, you don’t mean that,” Midorima says, fingers sliding deeper inside of Takao’s ass. They’re shallow at first, almost teasingly so, but then he pushes them even deeper, flicks his middle finger, and Takao shouts and claws desperately at the locker. 

Midorima is a monster. 

His precision is unmatched and Takao knows this better than anyone. His legs feel like jelly, knees feel like they’ve been replaced by some type of weak foam that does nothing to support him. He can’t speak when Midorima has him like this, can’t do anything but whimper and moan when Midorima’s breath is warm against his ear, can only nod his head pathetically when Midorima leans in and asks him if he likes it. 

Takao is incredibly hard, cock causing an obvious tent in the soft fabric of the skirt. He’s almost amused by it, but he’s easily distracted from it when Midorima flicks his finger again. 

His legs are shaking. 

“Takao,” Midorima says, and Takao knows exactly what he means even though the tone of his voice never changes. There’s only one implication that can be drawn from the way Midorima says his name, and it most definitely a warning. 

“I c-can’t help it,” Takao says. He’s not even touching himself, but the skirt feels so good gliding back and forth across his dick. He’s relieved when Midorima’s fingers slide out of him, but they’re quickly replaced with his cock. 

It’s embarrassing hearing his shouts and moans echoed back at him throughout the locker room, but he can’t control them. When he tries to pull away briefly to give himself a quick escape from Midorima’s powerful thrusts, he feels a hand gripping at the waistband of his skirt, forcing him backward, refusing to let him escape. 

Streaks of sweat glisten against the locker from where Takao’s fingers dragged along them, fighting to keep his upper body arched until his arms give out and his chest crashes onto the flat surface of one of the lockers.

Midorima doesn’t speak while he’s slamming into Takao, but he does lean downward, pepper Takao’s neck with kisses and nips, occasionally sucking on skin, slick from sweat. 

“Turn around,” Midorima says, and he pulls out, slowly and sensually, almost making Takao cum from the sensation. 

Takao has pretty impressive stamina. He’s trains his body just as much as his teammates. Perhaps even more so since he’s always riding Midorima around on that damn rickshaw. But he knows he won’t be able to handle much more of this. 

Even so, he’s still eager to comply with Midorima’s request. 

It’s a bit of a shock when Midorima leans down, grips the back of Takao’s knee and hoists his leg into the air. He does the same with the opposite leg, raising Takao off the floor, back pressed firmly against the lockers behind him. 

“Shin-chan,” Takao moans when Midorima slides back inside of him again, fast and fervent, as if it’s causing him physical pain to not have his cock buried deep within Takao’s ass. 

Midorima presses his lips against Takao’s, and they kiss, albeit clumsily. Midorima’s doesn’t taste like red bean soup, or drink, or any other variety of the sort. He just tastes like Midorima, which isn’t a type of flavor that Takao can successfully describe, but he loves it all the same. 

Warm fingers wrap around his cock and Takao bites down, capturing Midorima’s bottom lip with his teeth. He receives a soft grunt, but other than that, Midorima doesn’t protest. Though he can’t say the same for the lockers, the sound of metal slamming against metal is ridiculously loud under the weight of Midorima’s thrusts. 

When they stop kissing, Midorima moves to rest his head in the crook of Takao’s neck, his hips moving with long even strokes that make Takao wrap his arms around broad shoulders, fingernails digging into heated skin. He likes when Midorima’s like this, can practically feel the hickey on his own neck growing darker by the second. The way Midorima marks him is just as precise and calculated as everything else he does. 

Midorima’s hand is still pumping him, still pulling moan after moan from Takao’s lips no matter how hard he tries to hold back, to keep that embarrassing echo from coming out, from surrounding them. It’s too much, and he’s too exhausted, and he can no longer control anything except the way he turns his head to the side, latches onto Midorima’s ear with his teeth, and gently bites down. 

Midorima curses then, tenses, his free hand balling into a fist and then slamming against the locker. He cries out, hips pounding into Takao, lips digging into sensitive, bruised skin. Takao likes it even more when Midorima is like this, wild, unreserved, unable to control the way his body reacts when he cums, flooding Takao, whimpering and shaking his head, his damp green hair clinging to his face and sticking to his glasses. 

“Takao,” he whispers, breathless, a hint of annoyance in his tone because he wasn’t ready to orgasm so quickly. He speeds up his hand, ignores the way that Takao claws into his back, and doesn’t stop jerking him off even when he cries out Midorima’s name, thighs stiff, and locked tightly around his waist. Midorima is evil, of course, keeps pumping Takao even after he cums, sticky fingers and palm stroking Takao’s sensitive cock, making him whimper and beg. 

“Shin-chan,” Takao whines. He attempts to move his hips, to free himself from Midorima’s torturous hand. 

“I’ve told you time and time again about doing that,” Midorima says. “You’re too stubborn.”

“But you enjoyed it, right?”

“Hn.”

Takao chuckles, hissing softly when Midorima gently pulls out and helps lower him to his feet. “Mm, I guess I’ll have to buy my own one of these to help out Shin-chan and his  _non-fetish_.” He smirks. 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Midorima replies with a roll of his eyes, though it’s impossible not to notice the reddening of his cheeks. “I’ve already ordered a few for you.” And with that being said, he walks away from Takao and towards the showers, ignoring the protests coming from his partner as he followers after him.


End file.
